


Determination

by Anteros



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-25 14:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anteros/pseuds/Anteros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first time fic. I haven’t written one before because I was at a loss as to where and when to set it.  Eventually I came to the conclusion that pwp was the only way to go.  So here you are: guaranteed plot free porn with a pinch of angst on the side.  I’ll leave you to decide when and where this takes place.  I have my own ideas. <b>ETA</b> Oops forgot to say huge thanks to <a href="http://esmerelda-t.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://esmerelda-t.livejournal.com/"><b>esmerelda_t</b></a> and <a href="http://nodbear.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://nodbear.livejournal.com/"><b>nodbear</b></a> for beta.</p><p>Written from Archie's POV.  Set around the time of <i>The Duel / The Even Chance</i>.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Determination

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time fic. I haven’t written one before because I was at a loss as to where and when to set it. Eventually I came to the conclusion that pwp was the only way to go. So here you are: guaranteed plot free porn with a pinch of angst on the side. I’ll leave you to decide when and where this takes place. I have my own ideas. **ETA** Oops forgot to say huge thanks to [](http://esmerelda-t.livejournal.com/profile)[**esmerelda_t**](http://esmerelda-t.livejournal.com/) and [](http://nodbear.livejournal.com/profile)[**nodbear**](http://nodbear.livejournal.com/) for beta.
> 
> Written from Archie's POV. Set around the time of _The Duel / The Even Chance_.

_**Determination**_  
 **Title:** Determination (1/2)  
 **Author:** Anteros  
 **Characters:** Kennedy / Hornblower  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Notes:** This is my first time fic. I haven’t written one before because I was at a loss as to where and when to set it. Eventually I came to the conclusion that pwp was the only way to go. So here you are: guaranteed plot free porn with a pinch of angst on the side. I’ll leave you to decide when and where this takes place. I have my own ideas. **ETA** Oops forgot to say huge thanks to [](http://esmerelda-t.livejournal.com/profile)[**esmerelda_t**](http://esmerelda-t.livejournal.com/) and [](http://nodbear.livejournal.com/profile)[**nodbear**](http://nodbear.livejournal.com/) for beta.

* * *

  
You’ve chosen this room carefully. An unremarkable inn set back from the docks on a quiet side street. The room is at the top, under the eaves, facing onto the back yard. The kind of room where no one would disturb you. The kind of room where no one would hear a man cry out. The kind of room you used to avoid.

But this time it’s your choice.

The door is locked, you have your back to it and he is standing right in front of you. He’s just a boy, but not just any boy. He is the boy that will make the horror stop, and the pain go away. And he’s trembling. You can see his hands shaking but there is a look of furious determination in his eyes. This is it. This is what you’ve wanted for so long. Your heart is hammering so hard that you’re sure he must be able to hear. He looks afraid and embarrassed but he smiles at you and something in your stomach leaps and flutters. He has already removed his jacket in an earnest display of casual nonchalance and he’s staring straight at you, eyes huge and burning with fear and want and determination. Such innocence and resolve, that’s what turned your head.

He is tall and straight and unbroken, not a mark on him. And you will be his first. The thought lights a fierce spark in your chest, and lower. But at the same time you know that you can not stand naked before this man, with all the marks of your shame on display. So you turn to douse the lamp, but you are torn. You want so much to see him, to see every ember of desire that flickers up from the depths of those brown eyes. You want to see your hands on his perfect skin but you are ashamed he will read every debasement on yours. So you douse the lamp but leave the candle burning. Just enough light to see. And you hope he will not notice the traces of those that have been there before him and taken what you want to give, to give to him and him alone.

Your head’s swimming and you know it’s not the ale. You’ve both been careful not to drink too much. The whole scene has taken on a shimmering air of unreality and you close your eyes and pray you’re not going to have a fit. You breathe; once, twice, three times and open your eyes. You’re still on your feet and he’s still there. Horatio Hornblower is standing right there in front of you with a look in his eyes that makes your heart leap into your throat and your prick kick hard enough to almost make you flinch. Proud, upright, dutiful Horatio Hornblower. Here, with you. It doesn’t seem possible. That he would risk everything; honour, reputation, standing, his neck even? For this? For you?

Of course there had been others you wanted and others you didn’t, but for all they told you it was a sin, you had never been ashamed. Because if it was a sin then you were a sin and if you were damned anyway then why deny it? But one too many flagrant dalliances in Drury Lane had seen you shipped off to do your duty for King and country. And there aboard _Justinian_ you had learned about shame. He said he would teach you a lesson you would never forget. And he was right, you’ll never forget Jack Simpson. He was the one that taught you all there is to know about shame. And you know it’s foolish but in some small way you want to believe that this boy’s purity will rub off on you and wash away the stain. To you he is duty and goodness and honour incarnate and without him you are nothing.

He steps forward and reaches out one shaking hand to brush your cheek, your face flushing and prickling at his touch. Then he lowers his head to kiss you. It’s awkward and hesitant and his nose bumps against yours. You laugh nervously and instantly regret it. His face colours but he smiles and moves towards you again with more purpose. This time his lips meet yours and they are full and soft and cool, brushing lightly against your mouth and then pressing harder. He slides his hand under your queue and pulls you up to his mouth, his determination making you gasp. You flick your tongue over his lips, into his mouth and he kisses you so fiercely that you swear you would slide to the floor if it was not for his hand griping the back of your neck. You break apart and he glares at you with a look that is equal parts astonishment and naked desire. Smiling, you slide your hands round his slim waist and pull him towards you.

“Come here, Horatio.”

You draw him to you until your hips are pressed together and you can feel his prick pressing against your belly. He throws his head back and groans and then he cups your face in both his hands pulling you in for another long hard kiss. No hesitancy this time. His lips are wet now, sliding against your own as you run your hands down to his arse and pull him hard against you. He’s breathing faster as you shift one hand to the front of his breeches, running it over the length of his prick, feeling a small wet patch where the head is pushing against the cloth. He groans and breaks off kissing you, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You look up at him, fascinated by the change that has come over his familiar features. There are spots of high colour on his cheeks, his lips full and wet and parted. You’re still rubbing against him through his breeches, gripping his arse and pulling him towards you. His hands are on you shoulders now and you lean in to him, laying your head on his chest, breathing him in. He drops his head to yours, curls brushing the side of your face, his breath hot against your cheek.

“Archie…”

It’s barely a hiss, a breath. You look up and his burning eyes light a glimmer of devilry in you.

“Patience Mr Hornblower.”

Stepping away from him you make an offhand performance of removing your jacket and waistcoat. He just stands and stares, lips pursed together, brows furrowed. You start to untie your stock but your hands are shaking and your fingers fumble with the knot. His expression changes to a triumphant smirk as he steps forward, catching your hand and kissing your fingers.

“Allow me to assist, Mister Kennedy, you seem to be having a little trouble there.”

Making a pretence of frowning back at him, you hold your breath as his fingers work at the knot at your throat. The silk slides free and now he’s at the buttons of your shirt and it’s the moment you’ve been dreading and wanting and wanting and dreading. You close your eyes and hold your breath, even in the flickering candlelight he will see. He pulls your shirt up over your head. Every mark will be plain. For a moment that stretches to an age you are adrift, eyes closed, half-naked in front of him. He’s not touching you. Maybe he is already turning away in disgust from such soiled goods. The blood is pounding in your head and you’re afraid to open your eyes. Then you feel strong arms around your shoulders and rough hands running down your back. His naked chest is pressed against yours, smooth and warm and he’s repeating your name over and over as he pushes you back towards the narrow bed. Just as the edge of the bed bumps against your legs his determination falters and you see a flicker of fear and uncertainty cross his face, he releases his embrace and stares at you, lost for a moment.

“Ummm…Archie?”

But you are not going to let him go. You are not going to loose him now, to loose this one chance of absolution. You turn and push him gently down onto the bed.

“Ssshh Horatio, it’s all right. Just follow me.”

You kiss him again, slowly this time, falling into his lips. Brushing a stray curl off his forehead you climb on top of him, straddling his thighs. He’s staring up at you, eyes wide, holding your gaze with his will, and you still can’t believe this is real. You open the placket of his breaches and he lifts his hips off the bed to let you slide them down over his thighs, smiling a shy smile as he does so. His prick springs forward, long and slender, you stare at it for a moment and before you can help yourself you bow your head and take him full in your mouth. You hadn’t meant to, you’d meant to wait, take it slowly. A sharp gasp escapes him and his hips jerk upwards, almost making you loose your balance and tumble on top of him. He smells clean and musky and tastes of salt. But as much as you want him like this you know that this first time you want to see his face, you want to see it in his eyes. And you realise, for the first time, that you want him to see you. This time you will not be ashamed. Not this time.

You release him from your mouth and he curses and grasps at your shoulders trying to push you back down. But you quickly step off the bed, shedding your own breeches none too elegantly before pulling his off from where they have bunched around his thighs. And then you climb back on top of him kneeling over him. You look straight into his eyes willing yourself to capture this moment and seal it away forever in some safe dark place where no taint will ever corrupt it. You want this, you want him, and you can not contain it. This is your choice.

He gazes up at you, drawing you down, drawing you in. You lower yourself down, sinking onto him. His body is long and hard and slender, warm and smooth beneath you. You close your eyes and revel in the feel of his body. His hands are sliding down your back and then he’s gripping your arse hard pulling you down at the same time as he thrusts his hips up against you. It takes you a moment to realise the long low cry has come from your own throat. And then he’s taking you, this is his want, his need that is pressing hot and hard against you. You lift your head from his shoulder and the look of sheer greed in his eyes lights a flickering tongue of fear in your chest. For a moment you are frozen, the sour taste of panic rising in your throat. His lips are moving but it’s not his voice you hear, it’s not his voice that is whispering filth and shame in your ear. But then you hear your name. It’s your name he’s calling, Horatio is repeating your name, soft and over and again.

”Archie, Archie, Archie…"

He slides his feet up the bed without releasing his grip on you, holding you between long taught thighs, pushing up against you. He’s going to take you. Horatio Hornblower who has never even kissed a girl, he is going to take you and all you can do is hang on and be pulled along in his wake. His prick is hot and wet sliding against yours, his nails digging into your arse, panic flickers again. You push yourself up, hands on his shoulders. He’s still holding your gaze but his eyes look glassy, lips parted, repeating over and over his litany of desire. “Archie…” Your name. You cling to his voice like a line. He’s thrusting hard against you now and you bear down against him meeting pressure with pressure. Dark lashes flutter against flushed cheeks, his breath is coming in shallow gasps. There is nothing else but this. And then his eyes fly wide, lips parting to mark a perfect O as he arches up against you, taught as a bow. He cries your name and you feel his heat spreading over your belly. You take one deep breath and let it all go, all the shame and fear and loneliness and all that is left is here and now and you and him and nothing else matters but his heat and his hands and your name on his lips. Then your arms give way and you collapse on top of him, spent and new.

You drift against him, holding on to that perfect moment of contentment. He releases a long sigh that ruffles your hair. You lift your head to look up at him. Damp curls plastered to his face, his cheeks flushed, eyes shining with disbelief and fear and astonishment. But he’s smiling. A small lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He cocks his brow,

“Archie?”

All you can do is return his smile.

“Horatio.”

You shift your weight to roll off him but he slides his arms around you and holds you tight. So you drop your head to his shoulder to drift again. And whatever happens next, if you meet your end tomorrow, it will have been enough. It will be enough to know that you both determined to make this choice.

You close your eyes.


	2. Determination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of [Determination](http://anteros-lmc.livejournal.com/43071.html), from a different perspective. _I'm not sure if Horatio is getting a bit out of character here, but I see him as a gambler and a man who is prepared to take risks against the odds._
> 
> Written form Horatio's POV.

_**Determination**_  
 **Title:** Determination (1/2)  
 **Author:** Anteros  
 **Characters:** Kennedy / Hornblower  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Notes:** This is my first time fic. I haven’t written one before because I was at a loss as to where and when to set it. Eventually I came to the conclusion that pwp was the only way to go. So here you are: guaranteed plot free porn with a pinch of angst on the side. I’ll leave you to decide when and where this takes place. I have my own ideas. **ETA** Oops forgot to say huge thanks to [](http://esmerelda-t.livejournal.com/profile)[**esmerelda_t**](http://esmerelda-t.livejournal.com/) and [](http://nodbear.livejournal.com/profile)[**nodbear**](http://nodbear.livejournal.com/) for beta.

* * *

  
You’ve chosen this room carefully. An unremarkable inn set back from the docks on a quiet side street. The room is at the top, under the eaves, facing onto the back yard. The kind of room where no one would disturb you. The kind of room where no one would hear a man cry out. The kind of room you used to avoid.

But this time it’s your choice.

The door is locked, you have your back to it and he is standing right in front of you. He’s just a boy, but not just any boy. He is the boy that will make the horror stop, and the pain go away. And he’s trembling. You can see his hands shaking but there is a look of furious determination in his eyes. This is it. This is what you’ve wanted for so long. Your heart is hammering so hard that you’re sure he must be able to hear. He looks afraid and embarrassed but he smiles at you and something in your stomach leaps and flutters. He has already removed his jacket in an earnest display of casual nonchalance and he’s staring straight at you, eyes huge and burning with fear and want and determination. Such innocence and resolve, that’s what turned your head.

He is tall and straight and unbroken, not a mark on him. And you will be his first. The thought lights a fierce spark in your chest, and lower. But at the same time you know that you can not stand naked before this man, with all the marks of your shame on display. So you turn to douse the lamp, but you are torn. You want so much to see him, to see every ember of desire that flickers up from the depths of those brown eyes. You want to see your hands on his perfect skin but you are ashamed he will read every debasement on yours. So you douse the lamp but leave the candle burning. Just enough light to see. And you hope he will not notice the traces of those that have been there before him and taken what you want to give, to give to him and him alone.

Your head’s swimming and you know it’s not the ale. You’ve both been careful not to drink too much. The whole scene has taken on a shimmering air of unreality and you close your eyes and pray you’re not going to have a fit. You breathe; once, twice, three times and open your eyes. You’re still on your feet and he’s still there. Horatio Hornblower is standing right there in front of you with a look in his eyes that makes your heart leap into your throat and your prick kick hard enough to almost make you flinch. Proud, upright, dutiful Horatio Hornblower. Here, with you. It doesn’t seem possible. That he would risk everything; honour, reputation, standing, his neck even? For this? For you?

Of course there had been others you wanted and others you didn’t, but for all they told you it was a sin, you had never been ashamed. Because if it was a sin then you were a sin and if you were damned anyway then why deny it? But one too many flagrant dalliances in Drury Lane had seen you shipped off to do your duty for King and country. And there aboard _Justinian_ you had learned about shame. He said he would teach you a lesson you would never forget. And he was right, you’ll never forget Jack Simpson. He was the one that taught you all there is to know about shame. And you know it’s foolish but in some small way you want to believe that this boy’s purity will rub off on you and wash away the stain. To you he is duty and goodness and honour incarnate and without him you are nothing.

He steps forward and reaches out one shaking hand to brush your cheek, your face flushing and prickling at his touch. Then he lowers his head to kiss you. It’s awkward and hesitant and his nose bumps against yours. You laugh nervously and instantly regret it. His face colours but he smiles and moves towards you again with more purpose. This time his lips meet yours and they are full and soft and cool, brushing lightly against your mouth and then pressing harder. He slides his hand under your queue and pulls you up to his mouth, his determination making you gasp. You flick your tongue over his lips, into his mouth and he kisses you so fiercely that you swear you would slide to the floor if it was not for his hand griping the back of your neck. You break apart and he glares at you with a look that is equal parts astonishment and naked desire. Smiling, you slide your hands round his slim waist and pull him towards you.

“Come here, Horatio.”

You draw him to you until your hips are pressed together and you can feel his prick pressing against your belly. He throws his head back and groans and then he cups your face in both his hands pulling you in for another long hard kiss. No hesitancy this time. His lips are wet now, sliding against your own as you run your hands down to his arse and pull him hard against you. He’s breathing faster as you shift one hand to the front of his breeches, running it over the length of his prick, feeling a small wet patch where the head is pushing against the cloth. He groans and breaks off kissing you, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. You look up at him, fascinated by the change that has come over his familiar features. There are spots of high colour on his cheeks, his lips full and wet and parted. You’re still rubbing against him through his breeches, gripping his arse and pulling him towards you. His hands are on you shoulders now and you lean in to him, laying your head on his chest, breathing him in. He drops his head to yours, curls brushing the side of your face, his breath hot against your cheek.

“Archie…”

It’s barely a hiss, a breath. You look up and his burning eyes light a glimmer of devilry in you.

“Patience Mr Hornblower.”

Stepping away from him you make an offhand performance of removing your jacket and waistcoat. He just stands and stares, lips pursed together, brows furrowed. You start to untie your stock but your hands are shaking and your fingers fumble with the knot. His expression changes to a triumphant smirk as he steps forward, catching your hand and kissing your fingers.

“Allow me to assist, Mister Kennedy, you seem to be having a little trouble there.”

Making a pretence of frowning back at him, you hold your breath as his fingers work at the knot at your throat. The silk slides free and now he’s at the buttons of your shirt and it’s the moment you’ve been dreading and wanting and wanting and dreading. You close your eyes and hold your breath, even in the flickering candlelight he will see. He pulls your shirt up over your head. Every mark will be plain. For a moment that stretches to an age you are adrift, eyes closed, half-naked in front of him. He’s not touching you. Maybe he is already turning away in disgust from such soiled goods. The blood is pounding in your head and you’re afraid to open your eyes. Then you feel strong arms around your shoulders and rough hands running down your back. His naked chest is pressed against yours, smooth and warm and he’s repeating your name over and over as he pushes you back towards the narrow bed. Just as the edge of the bed bumps against your legs his determination falters and you see a flicker of fear and uncertainty cross his face, he releases his embrace and stares at you, lost for a moment.

“Ummm…Archie?”

But you are not going to let him go. You are not going to loose him now, to loose this one chance of absolution. You turn and push him gently down onto the bed.

“Ssshh Horatio, it’s all right. Just follow me.”

You kiss him again, slowly this time, falling into his lips. Brushing a stray curl off his forehead you climb on top of him, straddling his thighs. He’s staring up at you, eyes wide, holding your gaze with his will, and you still can’t believe this is real. You open the placket of his breaches and he lifts his hips off the bed to let you slide them down over his thighs, smiling a shy smile as he does so. His prick springs forward, long and slender, you stare at it for a moment and before you can help yourself you bow your head and take him full in your mouth. You hadn’t meant to, you’d meant to wait, take it slowly. A sharp gasp escapes him and his hips jerk upwards, almost making you loose your balance and tumble on top of him. He smells clean and musky and tastes of salt. But as much as you want him like this you know that this first time you want to see his face, you want to see it in his eyes. And you realise, for the first time, that you want him to see you. This time you will not be ashamed. Not this time.

You release him from your mouth and he curses and grasps at your shoulders trying to push you back down. But you quickly step off the bed, shedding your own breeches none too elegantly before pulling his off from where they have bunched around his thighs. And then you climb back on top of him kneeling over him. You look straight into his eyes willing yourself to capture this moment and seal it away forever in some safe dark place where no taint will ever corrupt it. You want this, you want him, and you can not contain it. This is your choice.

He gazes up at you, drawing you down, drawing you in. You lower yourself down, sinking onto him. His body is long and hard and slender, warm and smooth beneath you. You close your eyes and revel in the feel of his body. His hands are sliding down your back and then he’s gripping your arse hard pulling you down at the same time as he thrusts his hips up against you. It takes you a moment to realise the long low cry has come from your own throat. And then he’s taking you, this is his want, his need that is pressing hot and hard against you. You lift your head from his shoulder and the look of sheer greed in his eyes lights a flickering tongue of fear in your chest. For a moment you are frozen, the sour taste of panic rising in your throat. His lips are moving but it’s not his voice you hear, it’s not his voice that is whispering filth and shame in your ear. But then you hear your name. It’s your name he’s calling, Horatio is repeating your name, soft and over and again.

”Archie, Archie, Archie…"

He slides his feet up the bed without releasing his grip on you, holding you between long taught thighs, pushing up against you. He’s going to take you. Horatio Hornblower who has never even kissed a girl, he is going to take you and all you can do is hang on and be pulled along in his wake. His prick is hot and wet sliding against yours, his nails digging into your arse, panic flickers again. You push yourself up, hands on his shoulders. He’s still holding your gaze but his eyes look glassy, lips parted, repeating over and over his litany of desire. “Archie…” Your name. You cling to his voice like a line. He’s thrusting hard against you now and you bear down against him meeting pressure with pressure. Dark lashes flutter against flushed cheeks, his breath is coming in shallow gasps. There is nothing else but this. And then his eyes fly wide, lips parting to mark a perfect O as he arches up against you, taught as a bow. He cries your name and you feel his heat spreading over your belly. You take one deep breath and let it all go, all the shame and fear and loneliness and all that is left is here and now and you and him and nothing else matters but his heat and his hands and your name on his lips. Then your arms give way and you collapse on top of him, spent and new.

You drift against him, holding on to that perfect moment of contentment. He releases a long sigh that ruffles your hair. You lift your head to look up at him. Damp curls plastered to his face, his cheeks flushed, eyes shining with disbelief and fear and astonishment. But he’s smiling. A small lazy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He cocks his brow,

“Archie?”

All you can do is return his smile.

“Horatio.”

You shift your weight to roll off him but he slides his arms around you and holds you tight. So you drop your head to his shoulder to drift again. And whatever happens next, if you meet your end tomorrow, it will have been enough. It will be enough to know that you both determined to make this choice.

You close your eyes.


End file.
